3. Synergy
Synergy
A knock on my door yanks me from my reverie.
I had an hour of private time to ‘reacquaint’ myself with the ASSET.
So far, I’ve spent fifty minutes staring out the window.
Did you know that if you incline your head forty-five degrees to the left, you can see the Santa Monica Ferris wheel?
It’s shrouded by marine layer and looking a little worse for wear.
Moreover, the phytoplankton are blooming earlier this year, causing an off-season red tide.
This must be investigated posthaste, except…
I’ll leave that to the marine biologists. I do wonder if—
“Hello?” comes the punchy voice of my assistant. “Director?”
“Come in!” I swivel around, grateful for the distraction from my work.
Regina pokes her head in. “Sorry to interrupt,” she whispers, “I know you’re busy, but your direct reports have assembled.” Her eyes travel from my laptop to the No. 2 pencil I’ve tucked behind my ear. “Do you have fifteen minutes?”
“I suppose I can spare a few minutes from my work,” I concede. “As you can see,” I flutter a hand vaguely at my laptop, “I’m elbows deep in the ASSET.”
“Director Wu,” Regina begins, “Allow me to introduce Luke, Ramin, Paulina, and Lily.”
My direct reports file in, each one shaking my hand with an ambitious, bone-crushing grip before falling in line against the wall.
They seem impossibly young (new grads?) and strangely, all very short.
Is it me, or are the kids getting shorter?
They all look adorably stern with their freshly ironed suits, like a squad of accountants.
No one dares crack a smile. Luke stands with his hands behind his back like a secret serviceman.
Paulina’s slicked-back bun is so tight I wonder if she suffers from migraines.
Ramin visibly trembles under my gaze, while Lily, also donning a slicked-back bun, holds up her notebook and clicks her pen, ready to take down orders.
It’s occurred to me that they expect me to give a speech.
Judging by their tense body language, I’m sensing that they’re either in awe of me or terrified of me—or both.
I suppose I appear terrifying with my immaculate French lob and flowy girlboss trousers.
Unbeknownst to them, these trousers are actually called ‘palazzo pants’, and I picked them up while vacationing in Santorini last year.
They’re not very frightening at all, but I suppose, in the context of an ultra-minimalist corner office, they do make me look intimidating.
“Yes, well,” I begin pacing like the drill sergeant my underlings expect me to be, “now that we’ve all been introduced, I want to get down to business.”
I halt in front of Paulina, she of the migraine-inducing bun, and narrow my eyes.
Over the years, it’s come to my attention that I have been blessed with great cheekbones and expressive almond-shaped eyes, yet cursed with one hell of a resting bitch face.
The dreaded RBF syndrome. That’s why I have to make sure I’m fully animated and smiling during job interviews; as soon as I let my face go to rest, I’m guaranteed to give off a snooty superiority that will sabotage my career.
We all have our crosses to bear. Mine is my face.
Must be something in the arch of my left eyebrow that makes me look permanently skeptical.
Most strangers assume I’m unfriendly and judgmental upon first impression, which, okay, I may be a little judgmental (we all need to have opinions!) but I’m the least unfriendly person I know.
Having a resting bitch face sucks. You can’t open your mouth and ask for a refill without a hassled server asking you to ‘turn down the temperature.’ But in a corporate setting, a bitch face is great.
Everyone just automatically assumes you know what you’re doing because you look perpetually hassled.
When you’re a director like I am, everyone also assumes you have exacting standards (thank you, judgement eyebrow) and don’t suffer fools.
I’ve never fired anyone before, but my former direct reports used to tiptoe around me as if I were about to can them at any moment.
I merely have to look at Paulina and she immediately starts withering under my bitchy glare. “I’m sure you’re all aware of the deadline we’re under,” I say. “In two weeks, we’re to present our progress with the ASSET to the board.”
Ramin clears his throat. “Director, I’m sorry to—”
“Yes?”
“I thought you were supposed to present your work to the board.”
“I am?”
Four heads nod in unison.
“Just me?”
“You and you alone. It’s in our…” Ramin gulps. “Our directive.”
I glare at Ramin. He has a sly grin and shifty eyes, not to mention a lush mop of curly hair.
Unlike his counterparts, he is not devoted to hair gel.
He is displaying hippie-like, rabble-rousing behavior.
He could make trouble for me in the future.
As the top dog, I had better establish my dominance now or regret it later.
I halt in front of Ramin, appearing to tower over him, which is not hard to do.
He’s seriously short. They all are. I can’t get over it.
My direct reports must be 5’4” and not an inch taller, though I suspect Luke wears lifts.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
In fact, I like how my underlings are all perfectly aligned.
It’s so cute, like my very own matching set of minions.
As I indulge in another flight of fancy, a dark squall must have crawled over my features, making me look very displeased. Ramin casts his eyes down to his over-polished shoes and falls back in line. Eventually, I get back on track and realize that my face has done most of the intimidating for me.
“This is news to me.” I grab the sheet of paper from my desk and scan my to-do-list. “It’s not in my directive.”
“Our directive is to offload work from your directive,” Ramin says, eyeing his colleagues for backup, “so you can focus on the ASSET unburdened.”
This is unacceptable. “Surely the four of you are doing a presentation on the ASSET alongside me? Whatever happened to synergy? Team work?”
They glance at each other nervously. Lily, she of the slightly looser bun, whispers in Ramin’s ear.
“Well?” I slap my print-out against my thigh, causing them to jump. “Out with it!”
Luke steps forward, running a shaking hand over his over-gelled, preppy side part. “We’re tasked with preparing your Keynote slides, that is,” he consults his colleagues for courage, “after you provide us with your results.”
Damn. That’s not very helpful. Or synergetic.
What’s the point of having a team when they can’t give your presentation for you? Or, in my case, tell me what the ASSET does.
I’m displeased that I have to tackle the ASSET all by myself. As if I don’t already have a ton of work on my plate.
Clasping my hands behind my back, I pace back and forth, letting my displeasure radiate from my face. My direct reports tense up, their cunning little eyes tracking me in anticipation of a meltdown. I never meltdown, but I’m not opposed to busting some balls.
“You!” I stop in front of Luke.
Startled, he stands at attention, jutting his chin out. “Yes, Director?”
“What can you tell me about the ASSET?”
He shrinks a little. “Is this a test?”
“It’s a pop quiz,” I counter. Somebody needs to tell them that they’re too high-strung and need to stop taking work so seriously. Maybe that somebody should be me… after I scare the living shit out of them. “Can someone tell me the purpose of the ASSET?”
Silence.
I assess the group. Inwardly, I’m on the edge of my seat. Surely one brilliant young mind can unlock the mystery of what I’m supposed to be doing.
“A big picture?”
No answer.
“A blueprint?”
No answer.
“Anything?”
I continue pacing. Over the years, I’ve perfected the art of asking questions while projecting an aura of confidence.
I knew the answer all along. I’m just testing you to see if you know what I know.
In reality, I honestly just want you to tell me the answer.
It works every time. It’s a great tactic to get someone to do the work for you and thank you for it.
“What exactly do you think I’m supposed to be doing with the ASSET?” I ask, losing my patience.
No one volunteers an answer. Naturally, no one wants to be the first victim.
“Come on,” I say after a bout of tense silence, “I don’t bite.
We’re doing important work with the ASSET here.
If I’m curt with you, it’s because I expect my team to become so fluent in the ASSET that you can basically do my job for me.
Hell, you’ll become such experts you can teach me about the ASSET. How does that sound?”
Lilly clears her throat. “That would be a dream come true,” she whispers with reverence. A murmur of excitement ripples through her colleagues. “Will you really teach us how to work with the ASSET?”
“Of course.”
Her brow puckers in confusion. “But the program is still in beta. We were told only you had access, and we won’t be able to even look at the ASSET until we’ve all undergone an intensive training program.”
Really? This job is like peeling back the layers of an onion. There’s something rotten the deeper you go. How many more surprises does the ASSET have in store for me?
I tap my foot. “How long is this training program supposed to take?”
Lilly gulps. “3-5 years.”
“3-5 years! It only took me...” I cough. “Two weeks.”
My revelation is met with shock and awe. I suspect they’ve heard tales of my special skills and now I’ve cemented my aptitude in their eyes. I’m a living, breathing prodigy in the field of data analytics, and I can’t wait 3-5 years for them to get up to speed. I have two weeks.
“Can you guys take an accelerated course over the weekend and tackle the ASSET on Monday?” I ask.
To look at them, you’d think I’d just asked them to murder their own mothers. The unmitigated horror in their eyes. The cold sweat on Luke’s forehead.
“Relax,” I say as Ramin begins to hyperventilate and Paulina’s eyes become misty with tears of stress, “I’m joking.” I peer into their ghost-white faces. “That’s a joke.”
They deflate. Luke chances a nervous titter. Lily whispers, “I think I’m going to throw up.”
“So…” I slap my rolled-up directive against my palm. “Can anyone tell me the basics of the ASSET?”
Four terrified faces stare back at me. I resume pacing. They resume cowering.
“Come on. Don’t be modest. Does anyone know?” A catch of desperation causes me to squeak. “Not even a little?”
Again, my probing is met with a wall of silence.
Damn. They really have no clue what the ASSET is, which means I’m cooked. Why does everything have to be so difficult? How do they expect me to delegate my job when no one can tell me what my job is?
I turn my back to them in an attempt to hide my panic. “I must say I’m very disappointed.”
A murmur stirs behind me. Someone (Ramin?) whispers, “No...”
“Yes,” I whirl around, impassioned. “Very disappointed. I was led to believe this department was at the forefront of ASSET expansion, and yet, I find that no one knows a damn thing about what the ASSET is or what the ASSET does. No one can tell me the basics of what we do here. I was told you were the cream of the crop, but you know what I see before me? A bunch of slackers!”
Luke wipes his eyes. “We’re not slackers.”
“Oh really? Did I not just hear you proclaim that it’ll take you 3-5 years to master the ASSET? Are you planning to take this course while lounging by the pool with a pina colada?”
My direct reports shrink back. “No, Director!”
I shake my head, glaring at them with the full force of my bitchy face.
“Once again, I have to do everything myself.” I unfurl my directive and stare at my To-Do-List with distaste.
“I suppose I’ll have to take care of all these items while simultaneously breaking new ground in the field of er... ASSET integration.”
Lilly steps forward, head bowed. “We’ll gladly action your directives for you.”
My eyes light up. “You will?”
She nods like an eager puppy. “So you can concentrate on the important stuff.”
“Yes!” Ramin says. “And we’ll enroll ourselves in the accelerated ASSET program.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere here.” I thrust my directives at Lilly. “See that this is actioned by 3 pm Friday.”
As the team huddles together to divvy up their new workloads, Paulina pokes her head up and clears her throat. “Um, Director?” she asks and gets a poke in the ribs from Luke. “Some of these items are beyond our scope of—”
“Paulina… I trust you can learn.”
“But—”
I hold up a hand, cutting her off. “I can either catch a fish for you and feed you once, or teach you how to fish and feed you for a lifetime.”
“But, Director,” she continues, “you haven’t taught us how to fish at all.”
Taking a deep breath, I pinch my brow. “Because I believe in a hands-off approach. Do you want a taskmaster breathing down your neck? I want you to teach yourself how to fish. Then I want you to teach me. That’s the only way you can teach yourself.”
“That makes sense… I suppose.” Paulina frowns, trying to comprehend the valuable lesson I’ve just given her. “Thank you, Director. I didn’t mean to question you.”
I take it back. Ramin is not the rabble-rouser. It’s Paulina. That tight bun is making her a snippy contrarian.
“Now, if we’re finished chit-chatting…” I eye the clock impatiently. “I have a ton of important work to do. My directives aren’t going to action themselves. Synergy! Say it with me.”
“Synergy…” my team repeats.
Frankly, their lack of team spirit disappoints me. I cup a hand to my ear. “I can’t hear you.”
“Synergy!”
“That’s better. Now get the hell out of my office.”
Alone, I plop myself into my chair and stare at my screen.
The ASSET glares back at me, a mess of green numbers that isn’t even close to making sense.
I suppose I have no choice but to try to wrangle it into order, if that’s indeed what you do with it.
I can’t wait for my team to tell me. But it’s not like I’m unwilling to learn. I can also tinker with it.
I scoot my chair closer and take a deep breath, ready to lock in.
My stomach growls. Suddenly, I’m ravenous.
All I had for breakfast was a tiny yogurt cup, no granola.
I can’t really be expected to work when my brain is deprived of nutrients.
If I force myself to concentrate, it may cause unseen damage to my body, especially since I’ve already used up the bulk of my energy leading my team.
They were extremely undisciplined and argumentative, testing my patience and questioning my authority.
Despite their resistance, I’ve managed to beat back their slacker natures and fill their idle days with fulfilling work (my work).
When you think about it, I’ve accomplished a Herculean task. All on my first day, no less.
I log myself out of the program and, blinking for a few minutes, eye the clock.
“Ah.” I slap my hands together. “Lunch.”